Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

  Boone needed help.

  I took another step inside and tried to make my voice sound lower. “Your brother had an accident.”

  “What?” Nick jumped to his feet and into his big black boots “What happened?” He frowned and hissed something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it.

  I started running back to the school yard, with Nick hot on my heels.

  The whole way there, all I could think was, “I’m alone with Nick Lund and I’m not puking.”

  When we got to the school yard, Boone had come around. He was lying on his side, moaning like a kitten. Nick crouched down beside him. “Hey, Bunny boy, what’s going on? Talk to me.” Nick’s voice was soft. I had never heard him speak so quietly. “What happened to your head? Can you sit up?”

  Then Nick’s cold blue gaze fell on the plastic bag, and I almost ran off, but I knew he would catch up to me and kill me anyway. Nick picked the bag up, looked inside, and brought it up to his nose. “What the fuck are you guys doing with this shit? Huh? What the fuck is going on here? Tell me you haven’t been sniffing this shit.” Nick’s voice quivered with anger, and his eyes were like blades on our faces. “What’s wrong with you? This is nasty shit. This is dangerous stuff. You guys are stupider than I thought.”

  Boone moaned louder. “Nico. It’s not their fault—”

  “You shut up. You hear me? You fucking shut your piehole. What am I suppose to do with you now, huh?” Nick slowly shook his head. “You need a doctor, and I can’t drive you the hospital because Dad’s home. We have no choice, I gotta tell him. I gotta tell all your folks—”

  “Oh no! Please Nick, please don’t tell my parents,” whined JF with crocodile tears in his eyes. “You don’t know my dad, you don’t know how crazy he can get—”

  “Okay. Okay. Stop your bitchin’ and lemme think here, okay? Shut up and lemme think.”

  Nick closed his eyes for minute and rubbed his face.

  I stood like a glass-eyed doll, watching him. None of us moved until he opened his eyes.

  Finally, Nick exhaled a hard breath through the nose and glanced up at JF. “Go home. Get outta here.”

  JF gunned down the street as if his undies were on fire.

  “All right. I’m gonna send O’Reilly to get Dad. We stay here and wait.”

  When Nick looked up at me, my lips pulsed from wanting to say things I’m not even allowed to think.

  Nick drew in another deep breath and pointed home. “Go,” he whispered, “but tell ’em you guys were wrestling and Bunny bumped his head against the wall. I’ll take care of the evidence.”

  My eyes filled up, and I knew if I blinked, or talked, I would start bawling like a big sissy boy.

  “Come on, go,” he said more urgently. “Before I change my mind. But if you two ever pull a stunt like this again, I’ll whup both of your asses, got it?”

  I got it all right. I ran back, but this time my feet had trouble carrying me. When I got there, I was really out of breath, and could hardy get a word out without wheezing.

  I supposed it made it even more convincing.

  You know, that none of it was my fault.

  Johan sprang out the door, and I watched him climb into their van and tear down the street. I wanted to go with him but knew Mom wouldn’t let me. So I sat on the porch and stared at the sidewalk for a long time. I sucked on my medicine, that helped a little, and petted the neighbor’s cat. After an hour of that, I couldn’t wait anymore.

  I had to know if Boone was all right.

  Mom was taking a nap and Dad was watching TV.

  I cleared my throat. “Going for-for a bi——”

  “Don’t go too far,” Dad grumbled without turning away from the TV screen. He never has the patience to let me finish any of my sentences. “It’s suppertime soon and I’m making your favorite. We’re having sloppy joes.”

  I gagged.

  I rode my bike to the Verdun hospital. It isn’t very far. Just down the street, then four or five blocks going east. That’s the opposite of where the sun sets.

  I left my bike in the parking lot and walked into the emergency room. There were a lot of people in there. Mostly old people. Some kids too. None of them looked like they were dying. I had never been to the hospital. Except once, but that doesn’t really count. I was very small, and I don’t remember why I was there, except that they made me eat a lot of Jello.

  I looked around for the Lunds, but didn’t see them anywhere.

  I sat down next to an old man who smelled like mothballs and steamed broccoli.

  I watched the nurses and doctors. The doctors were all men and carried clipboards. The nurses were girls and frowned a lot. One of them looked at me from across the room and squinted. She whispered something to another nurse, and then walked right up to me.

  “Are you alone here?” Her eyebrows met in the middle and her lips looked like they were on a diet.

  I thought I was in trouble. “No ma’am. I ca-came here with Da-Da-Dad.”

  People never believe a word I say, on account of my stuttering.

  She looked over at the old man snoring in the chair next to me. “Come with me. Come on. Let’s go.”

  What now? Why couldn’t she ask the girl chewing on her piggy tails to come with her?

  The nurse took me to a smaller room. There was a sign on the door: Triage. “Sit down. What’s your name?”

  “Derek O’Reilly.”

  She squinted again. “How old are you, Derek O’Reilly?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m waiting fuh-for my friend.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Boone. Boone Lund.”

  She tilted her head, and frowned. “You shouldn’t be here alone. The emergency room is a dangerous place.” She picked up the phone. “Lydia, can you tell me what room the Lund boy is in, please?”

  I stared at my toes. My shoes are torn at the edges and I need new laces.

  “Okay,” she said after she hung up, “I’ll take you to his room. He’s upstairs. Next time, you ask your mom or dad to come with you.”

  “Yes ma’am, tha-thank you.”

  In the elevator, there was hardly any room to stand. There was a man on a stretcher, and his face was all gray and yellow. There were tubes coming out of his neck and arms. He kept farting out of his mouth.

  The nurse pulled me close to her. “Stay close.”

  When the doors opened, I hurried out. I was glad to be free of that awful man. The nurse tugged on my T-shirt and pointed ahead. “You go straight. It’s a few doors down. Room two thirty-four.”

  When I got to 234, I stopped short.

  The door was ajar.

  I hugged the wall, listening.

  Mrs. Lund was crying.

  Had I made a mistake by coming?

  Then I heard Johan. He didn’t sound too angry. His voice was more like warm maple spread, and before too long, Mrs. Lund had stopped her whimpering.

  I knocked on the door, and pushed on it a little, poking my face in the wedge, but I didn’t say anything.

  Boone lay in a big white bed. His face was the same color as the walls. He had a plastic thing stuck up his nose and a tube coming out his arm. The tube was attached to a bag with some kind of liquid that looked like pee. Johan sat next to him, directly on the bed, and Mrs. Lund sat in the armchair with Lene on her lap. She kept blotting her eyes with a tissue. Her cheeks were smeared with black makeup.

  Nick stood in the far right corner of the room. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets. His eyes were like that thunderstorm we had last year. The one that tore the roof off the shed.

  Johan was the first to see me. “Derek. What are you doing here? Do your parents know you’re here?”

  At that moment, I remembered Boone’s blue eyes rolling back into his head and my throat tightened. Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head, pushing the bad thoughts out of my mind.

  “We
ll, I’m not sure what to make of all this, Derek.” Johan’s eyes shone too. “I don’t understand. I would think that you’d know better. I’m real disappointed with you boys.”

  It was the way he said those words. He wasn’t yelling, but I think I would have preferred if he had. He simply shook his head and sighed. “You know, Boone needs some test done now. Doc says he might have some brain damage. Brain damage, Derek, do you understand what that means?”

  I understood.

  From the bed, Boone whined, “Dad, Red didn’t know what—”

  “Not a word from you. Understood? I don’t wanna hear it, Boone. You put your mother through hell this afternoon. You lay down like the doctor said, and you be quiet now.”

  Boone glanced over at me, and my eyes quickly darted down to the dirty floor. I couldn’t look into his eyes. I don’t think I can ever look into his eyes ever again.

  At least, not until next week.

  I didn’t know what to do with my arm and legs, so I held my breath and stayed close to the door. They’re all so nice to me, and I’ve disappointed them. I don’t mind disappointing Dad so much, matter of fact, I think I do so all the time, but Johan, that’s different.

  Finally, Mrs. Lund spoke to me. “Go home, Derek. I don’t blame you for what happened. I know my sons. When they get an idea in their thick skulls, no one can change their minds.” She stared Boone right in the face. “One of them is crazy,” she said, and then her eyes went, like a poisonous dart, from Boone’s face to Nick’s. “And this one over here is a beautiful liar.”

  My heart exploded inside my chest.

  No. Nick isn’t a liar. He was just trying to protect Boone, that’s all. My cheeks burned up, but all I could do was bite down on my lower lip.

  Nick’s nostrils flared. He looked like a bull trying not to lunge at the red flag. His cheeks had darkened, and for a second, I thought he was going to throw something at his mom, but instead, he threw his hands up and bolted out of the room.

  “Nicolai!” Johan yelled. “Come back here!”

  Nick didn’t slow down. And for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from chasing him.

  I caught the back of his head as he shoved open the door to the staircase, and I followed. I heard him running down the stairs. His steps were heavy and quick.

  I skidded down those stairs, nearly breaking my neck at every landing, and caught up to him on the first floor.

  I flinched, drawing back a little.

  Nick was throwing punches in the air, cursing in Norwegian. His hair had come undone, and with every hook he swung, it whipped his face. He was breaking a sweat, fighting this invisible person.

  Who could it be?

  Then his long arms dropped at his side, and he stopped.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing but a small breath crawled out.

  Nick leaned back on the wall, breathing hard and fast through the nose, staring straight ahead. Straight through me. “I fucking hate her.”

  I think he meant his mother, but I didn’t dare ask.

  He ran his fingers through his blond hair and tied it back again. “Well shit.” The light flicked on inside his eyes. “Better go back up there ’fore my dad comes down here looking for me.”

  I nodded, chewing on my lip.

  For some odd reason, Nick laughed. Not a big laugh, just a small chuckle.

  His eyes moved over my lips like they were tasting a candy cane. “Man,” he whispered. “You sure don’t say much, O’Reilly.”

  I shook my head.

  My penis jumped.

  Nick squinted and ran up the stairs, leaving me to stare at the blank wall.

  Chapter Two

  Dear Bump,

  It was nine in the morning when I heard some voices in the Lunds’ yard.

  My heart skipped three beats and I almost ran to the patio door. It was Saturday, and I wasn’t sure if Johan would let me play chess with him on account of me helping Boone break his brain.

  Lene pushed her Cabbage Patch Kid on the tire swing.

  Looked like she was giving it a good sermon.

  My eyes jumped from one corner of the yard to the next, but I didn’t see Boone.

  I slid the door open. “Hey, Le-Lene.”

  “Hello, Derek.” She turned around. She had Nutella on her chin. “You be the daddy, I’ll be the mommy.”

  “No.”

  “Do you wanna see my special place?”

  “No.”

  “Can I see your special place?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged and went back to pushing the fat-headed baby. I sat on the steps and watched some ants carry a dead ladybug across the tiles. “Is your bro-brother okay?”

  “Which one?”

  “What do-do you mean which one? The one-one that was in the-the hospital yesterday.”

  “They were both in the hospital yesterday.”

  I sighed. “Lene, I’m talking about-bout Boone.”

  She plucked her doll out of the tire and inched up her shirt. She tucked the doll inside it. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s sleeping. Do you wanna help me give birth?”

  “No.”

  “I plan on having a c-section.”

  Lene reads a lot of magazines.

  I got to my feet. I didn’t plan on spending my day with her. She scares me. “Well, tell him-him I went fuh-fuh-for a bike ride.”

  “Aren’t you gonna play checkers with my dad?”

  I stopped. “You mean chess, and yes, if he still wa-wa-wants to.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” She squatted down and started moaning.

  “Is he in-inside?” I tried not to pay any attention to her shallow panting.

  She fell back and started twitching on the grass. “Come cut my stomach before the baby dies!”

  I shrunk back. “No-no way.”

  She kept rolling her head from side to side, moaning louder and louder, getting dirt in her hair. “Hurry, Derek, save me! Save our baby!”

  I looked around. There was nobody listening to her lunatic ravings. I found a twig and dragged my feet up to her. In one quick motion, I pretended to slash her belly open. “The-there.”

  She screamed, then made like she had passed out.

  I watched her for a minute, shrugged, and went inside to find Johan.

  He was in the living room.

  And Nick was there too, asleep on the couch. He was on his side, with his knees curled under his belly and his rosy cheek resting against his palm. The sunlight filtered through his yellow eyelashes.

  My belly burned.

  I paused by the oak chest and cleared my throat. “Hello.”

  Johan looked up from his book. “Shh.” He tossed his head to where Nick rested peacefully. “Nicolai didn’t get much sleep last night.” Johan then eased himself out of his armchair and went to the kitchen.

  I followed.

  He smiled as he pulled a chair out for me. “Glad you came. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Yes. I di-did. Thank you.”

  “Okay then. I’ll get the board.”

  *

  I haven’t played chess in over fifteen years.

  I never could find another opponent who could teach me about life as we moved marble across a board.

  I am thinking of Johan Lund tonight.

  Him and his beautiful sons.

  What happened to me?

  I grew up, and then caught a deadly virus called adulthood.

  After three years at Dawson College, I was accepted at Concordia University, where I earned a bachelor’s in commerce.

  Following graduation, I began my apprenticeship in the glorious world of finance. I maxed out my credit card on tailored suits and trendy ties, and got myself dolled up every day only to sit at my computer, under blinking neon lights, sealed into a cubicle the size of my toilet. For six months, I crunched numbers through Excel pads, plugging data day in day out, drinking bad coffee, and sucking every possible ass I thought could get me ahead. Every time I moved an inch clo
ser to a position worthy of eight years of studying, the ass I had been kissing was either fired or quit. The economy was beginning to plummet, and the first reaction from the major corporations was to panic and scrape off a whole layer of executives, leaving us poor middle men and women, picking up the slack with no financial rewards and little recognition.

  After nearly a year of this, this idealistic Irish boy was about ready to quit the game.

  Then I met Nathan.

  We met at a sales conference, in the Charlevoix area. Though I was merely a staff accountant, I had been ordered to attend.

  Nathan was one of the guest speakers.

  As Nathan approached the podium, the audience, which had been quite distracted, and at times, just plain rude, quieted down. He plucked the microphone out of its stand and tapped it. His voice rose and fell perfectly. His tone was determined, yet nuanced with sympathy for the “hardworking men and women who strive to provide the customer with the best experience possible.” Within moments, the tough crowd of salesmen and jaded administrative assistants had fallen into a mild stupor. Everyone seemed completely smitten with him. His hand swooped the air as he spoke of “cutting the expenses out and raising the bar.” His dark eyes glimmered with ambition and straightforwardness. People around me, the very same people who had been doodling and yawning minutes ago, were now hunched over the tables, hanging on his every word.

  Of course it helped that Nathan is drop-dead gorgeous.

  The essence of him resembles a landslide.

  And me? What did I think of him?

  I hadn’t slept a wink the night before, on account of the party the sales team were having in the next room. Nathan’s speech, though compelling and perfectly delivered, was no match for my drooping eyelids. As he spoke of “going back to the basics, the core of customer service,” I struggled to keep my eyes open. I tried widening them every other minute, blinking and grimacing.

  People must have wondered if I suffered from Tourette’s.

  “You’re drooling on my presentation,” was the first thing Nathan ever said to me.